Her First Bow
by Mostlymakebelieve
Summary: When John Watson meets Mary Morstan he had no idea she would come toting her own sociopath, or two. Sherlock/OC John Watson/ Mary Morstan
1. Prologue

John's POV

With a deep breath through his nose, John Watson tried to control himself. It wasn't that his lanky flat-mate had never irritated the shorter man, he was quite used to antics at this point. However, there is a time in a man's life when enough, is most certainly enough.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" He finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Deducing, my Dear Watson, I'd assume you would know what this is by now," The detective sneered, standing up from his crouched position over the dead body of a rather portly old man.

John's temper boiled and he could feel the heat rise to his face.

"I believe he meant what you are doing with me, Mr. Holmes. I could be mistaken, though I hadn't thought Mr. Watson quite so dull." The young woman smiled, but her eyes flashed at the interruption.

"Interesting, is that what you meant, John?"

"I would say bringing my fiancée's 19 year old sister to crime scenes when I'm busy is a bit… melodramatic?"

"On the contrary, it was quite apt; you see she is something of a… prodigy." Sherlock practically smiled, which John noted was uncharacteristic for the sullen man. "She does remind of myself during my time at UNI—"

The petite girl spoke up "Except for the heroin, I've been informed that was one of your more frequented pastimes."

Sherlock lamented "Yes, excluding the heroin,"

"Also, I'm twenty. It really does make a difference,"

"I'm already too confused to really want anything to do with this, so if you don't mind; three minutes and counting Sherlock." Greg Lestrade growled, walking through the door that John had left open.

"Please, shut up." Sherlock hissed "Now, Elizabeth, do tell me what you see on this man?"

"He's a baker." She allowed, cautiously moving her eyes from Sherlock to the body lying on the floor. "Late eighties," She leaned down and ran a hand over the man's profile, thinking for a second "Of Germanic descent, most likely around Breman. The slit on his neck is too shallow for a quick death, but there is little blood around him, so I'd say he was moved here. His shoes and high quality so maybe he owns a bakery but doesn't cook?"

John watched in astonishment as the young woman looked over the man, as if she could read into every crevasse in the German's wrinkled skin.

"Training a lap dog, are we, Sherlock? I always thought you'd go for a more slender type." Anderson scoffs from the door way, watching the broad girl look up over the victim.

She looked over him, appraising the way he stood, considering his judgmental eyes on her body, weighing her words carefully before speaking "I was unaware that they allowed people with developmental disabilities to become forensic analysts. Bravo, though is he competent enough to do the job?" Without a hint of sarcasm she looked questioningly over to Greg, whose face has flushed a deep red and it was hard to tell whether he's holding back a laugh, or a shout.

"I'm not spastic." Anderson hissed, crossing his arms and taking a step forward.

"Oh, in no way was I trying offend you." She sighed, done with his comments, and turned back to Sherlock. "Now that John is here, I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I returned to school."

"Do you really need to attend those classes?" Sherlock asked, and John couldn't help but note the surprise in his flat mate's tone. As if he was disappointed she had to go.

"No, but it's Uni, attendance counts for a grade." She responded, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder, focusing on adjusting her glasses, not on Sherlock.

"Of course. John will do just fine with this case."

"He always has before." She smiled, and waved at John "I'll tell Mary I saw you, she does always want to hear news of you."

John was shocked at the slow flush that warmed his cheeks at the reminder of his beautiful fiancée, he often found it hard to imagine that this cold analytical girl was related to Mary. He often found himself amazed by just how much Mary _could_ feel.

"Stop thinking about that evil little brat." Sherlock hissed, trying to bring John's attention to the case.

"She's not evil or a brat." John defended wearily, after 8 months of dating and two of engagement; he was used to Sherlock's abuses towards Mary. There was no real need for him to defend her, she was almost shockingly good a deflecting the detectives jabs.

"Well, Lizzie's gone, now we're greatly outnumbered." The detective whispered to John as Lestrade began talking to another Yarder.

"What do you mean?" The doctor raised his eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

"John, I don't want to alarm you, however, there is an incurable amount of stupid in here with us. We must tread quite carefully." The taller man flashed his companion a small smile, and John, with great astonishment realized that Sherlock Holmes, had just tried to tell a joke.

Although, It wasn't much different than the things he was normally known to say about the New Scotland Yard employees they often dealt with. "I take it both Anderson, and Donovan, are working today?"

"Right you are, Doctor." Sherlock seemed pleased with himself, and John thought it would be horrid to try and fight with the man while he was in such a thoroughly good mood, so John continued on in amiable silence with his odd flat mate. He never once, why would he, considered that the great man's mood had been positively affected by the young woman who had just left his presence. Such reactions from the stoic Consulting Detective were unheard of, they were thought impossible. Sherlock Holmes would be, however, the first to tell you that John Watson did not think a great many things.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Can I get a little review lovin' over here, people? I allwwaayyyysss appreciate criticism.

Elizabeth's POV

It wasn't necessarily going to be a bad day, but John's interruption of our (I say our) crime scene would certainly add a bit of a twinge to things. I wouldn't say that it was because I had a crush on Sherlock, crush is a pathetic word, I just enjoy his company more thoroughly than most other people.

"Bethy, why are you so late?" Mary asked, leaning over the edge of the couch from where she was watching her "soaps".

"I met up with some friends. Saw John, he sends his love." I informed her, slipping out of my dull grey rain jacket.

"You, friends? You were helping Sherlock again weren't you?"

"Sometimes he needs an extra set of eyes, but he never needs help." I repeated what he'd told me many times before and attempted to sneak up the stairs.

"Don't under value yourself, I'm sure you're a shit ton smarter than him."

"Eloquent as always."

"See you're like a fucking dictionary!" She called out, and it's hard for me to tell sometimes if she's joking or not.

"I have school work to attend to." I sighed, looking longingly up to the stairs to my bedroom.

"That'll only take you a few minutes, come watch television with me."

"No. You know I hate the tele."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what that word means, I only speak AMERICAN."

"You're awful." I pointed out as she stuck her tongue out at me.

"Awfully patriotic." She continued, and follows me up the stairs as I ascend them.

"We don't live in America anymore."

"My heart lives there."

"I thought your heart was at 221b with Dr. Watson?"

Mary allowed this with a shrug but began singing her own rendition of the Star Spangled Banner.

"God, this is awful, you're lucky I'm not hung over or I'd wring your neck."

"Speaking of wringing people's necks…" Mary so cleverly changed the subject "I'm going away next week for work. I was wondering if you had anyone one- er- place to stay."

"I'm 20 Mary; I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you."

Mary grimaced and jaunted over to her briefcase that lay open on the dining room table, grabbed a small composition notebook, and hurried back over to where I was standing.

Clearing her throat she began to orate what was written down. "_August 15__th__, 2000. Bethy says she can take care of herself for twenty minutes. Result: explodes a container of bleach in motel bathroom. March 30__th__, 2001. Bethy left alone while I was at neighbors, drowns cat_." Mary slipped her hand into position at her hip "That's just the beginning, do I have to take it up closer to now?"

"I didn't drown the cat. It was dead when I found it."

"Apparently I do, because you're not getting the point."

"I understand, but it's not like you can pawn me off on some baby sitter. I'm old enough to say 'no',"

"I would never pawn you off on some baby sitter, when did I ever do that before? I was thinking… well none of this would be an issue if we could just trust you alone!"

"You can trust me alone; we haven't had an incident since 2010! Your research is out of date." I grumbled, and crossed my arms over my chest, hoping she would just leave the topic alone.

"I haven't left you alone since 2010, which only supports my hypothesis." She snapped back, a smug grin forming slowly in the corner of her mouth.

I just rued the day I taught her a proper debate strategy "What is your suggestion, since you so clearly have one, or you wouldn't have brought the up matter?"

"How would you feel about spending the week with John and his flat mate? They're both totally-"

"No, absolutely not."

Mary flipped her notebook to some of the very last pages and began to read aloud "_November, 19__th__ through the 24__th__,__2010__,__ No one saw her all week. She locked herself in her room with six bottles of wild turkey and cigarettes. Later hospitalized for dehydration. _I do not want a repeat. I worry about you as it is"

"Don't gush." I warned her, wary of the wetness brimming in her eyelashes.

"Just give it a chance. It'll help you be closer to the cases you and Sherlock solve together."

"Sherlock and I do not solve cases together." I emphasized every syllable so she could clearly hear me.

"Really?"

"You wouldn't… couldn't… no, you just refuse to understand. Sherlock and I aren't friends. We don't solve cases together; we don't get a cuppa and cream tea, or whatever it is that you imagine we do. We don't do anything. Don't bother you fiancée with baby-sitting me, _I can take care of myself._" I hissed.

Mary stared blankly at me for a moment, and immediately burst into tears.

My heart started racing, had I been too terse with her, emotional people are so fragile. I kept my face impassive as I studied her whimpering visage. Could what I said really have moved her to tears? Then, she started sobbing in earnest, gasping and clawing at her hair and practically screaming.

"Mary, you're being completely over dramatic. I haven't even-"

"YOU DON'T LOVE ME!" She cried, her knees bending awkwardly as she feel to the floor and hid her face.

"Don't be ridiculous." I scoffed, becoming slightly worried by her reaction. Was this by norms considered over dramatic, or appropriate?

"Then why won't you stay with John?" She wailed, louder, making worry whether the neighbors could hear our little row.

"Mary- God, Mary, stop." I finally shouted, and she looked up at me through her auburn fringe. "I'll… I'll do it." I muttered.


	3. Chapter 2

Sherlock's POV

_Mary Sylvia Morstan is 27 and stands at 5'4" with auburn hair that, when I first met her was at her shoulders, tapers off just below her shoulder blades. She has pale skin with rosy cheeks, and eyes the color of coffee and a dash of creamer. Her measurements matched the American Pin-up legend Betty Grable's perfectly at 36-24-35, and she even had the actresses' award winning legs. John had spent many nights just upstairs admiring those legs while I had been performing many pains staking experiments with her little sister. _

_The little sister in questions, whom I have turned most of my attentions to, favors the vintage actress Sophia Loren when it comes to appearance, and lags behind in age by three years. Where her older sister is tiny and delicate, Elizabeth Alexandra Morstan towers over her female peers at a regal 5'10 and holds a perfect hour glass figure with the measurements __40__-27-40. In my recollection I have noticed that unlike her sister she never leaves the house without a supportive bra and proper footwear. I've been told, by Mr. Watson, that it is out of my nature to notice the former detail. _

_I have, how do you say, been watching the Morstan sisters since their arrival into the social circle of the people of 221 Baker street. Be it when Mary is accompanying John, or bringing cookies to Mrs. Hudson, they have been integrated into our lives. They have no contact with a drug addicted mother, and their father has been MIA with the United States Marine Corps for over one year and a half. They arrived in London almost ten years ago to live with their paternal Aunt, Irene Adler. Having dealt with the similarly curvaceous Ms. Adler (Nee Morstan), I was naturally wary of the two sister's admittance into our day to day lives._

"Sherlock, are you still working on those infernal notes about Mary and Lizzie?" John asked, appearing behind from what seemed thin air, but was obviously the shower.

"They are very important documentations, incase my suspicions are realized."

"You really suspect little Lizzie of being some sort of spy for The Woman?" He asked incredulously and for some reason it struck me as odd that he would refer to Elizabeth as 'Little Lizzie'.

"She's taller than you, John, and it isn't _Elizabeth_ I'm really looking at, to be honest." I purposely put emphasis on her full name. Even though I did myself, sometimes, call her by her affectionate name she preferred to be referred to by her Christian name.

"She's about ten years younger though." He answered stubbornly, crossing his arms over his blue robe clad chest.

I looked over him for a second and took in the freshly red love bites on his exposed neck and sighed "Mary can leave the bathroom, there's no use trying to get one up on me."

Mary, upon hearing her name (the harpy), called out in an unnaturally loud tone "Shut your gob!"

John couldn't fight the little smile that turned up the corners of her lips and he looked away. "Really, Darling?" He sighed, and faked a cough to cover up the laugh that bubbled over as she came striding out of the bath room with a towel wrapped around her head as if it was a turban.

"Don't you laugh at me, John Hamish Watson, or you'll have no part in helping me unwrap either of these towels." She cocked an eyebrow and turned on her heel to head towards the stairs.

"Oh,love." He chuckled and then turned around to meet my _very_ un-amused face. "She's going away on business for a week." He stated, as if that explained their immature conduct.

"Well," I turned back to my notes and began to read over them again, making sure to store away the image I recalled of being in Elizabeth's room while she was sleeping. Really the entire memory only lasted about eight and a half seconds before she sprang up to awareness. I walked in, white button up shirt and black slacks, and looked around before clearing my throat. Then her eyes unsealed immediately and she was meeting my curious gaze with fire. I could run that memory through my mind over and over and still not understand whether she had already been awake or if she was just naturally that light of a sleeper.

John coughed into his hand awkwardly again to gain my attention "While she's on business would you mind if Lizzie stayed, she'll sleep on the couch." He asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the back of my head as I hadn't turned around.

"It's not really any of my issue, though she's bit old to need watching." I remarked, sharing a small smile with the ink stained notebook paper in front of me.

"Yes, well, much like you. she isn't exactly trust worthy." I ignored his comment, but saved it for later. Assuming the conversation was finished I flicked my hand to dismiss him and did not have to watch him to know that he walked away. The crashing on the stairs as he followed his lover was evidence enough.

I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out my compact phone and carefully crafted a text message to send to her.

_I hear you'll be staying a while._

_ -SH_

I put the phone back in my pocket, as the clock read 7:34 and she wasn't exactly known for keeping early morning hours regularly.

I pulled myself out of my desk chair and slipped into my suit jacket and headed towards the door. In a few moments this house would be a veritable war zone when it came to noise, and I wasn't particularly fond of Miss. Morstan's, they seemed to be ape impersonations but I was well aware that they were what passed for cries of passion. I went into the kitchen, checking the pressure gauge on an experiment and the temperature on another, before slipping out the front door and heading towards the Bakehaus at 71 King Street.

I hailed a cabby and gave the address, grimacing. Neither John nor Elizabeth were free for a companion and I was set to go back to surveying these cases myself. Just midst this train of thought my phone buzzed rather loudly against my chest.

With what would be most easily described as eagerness I reached for the device and scrambled to read the text.

_Unfortunate, I'm aware. I only hope I won't be too much of a bother._

_ -EAM_

My eyes scanned over the message a number of times before I could calmly decide what to respond.

_No more than John, he'll be mooning and sighing in longing the entire time your sister is away._

_ -SH_

For a moment I had the foolish apprehension that she would examine my message as too… well, that she'd think I'd sent it too quickly and see me as a doleful school boy. When her reply came just as quickly my fears were satiated.

_Where should I meet you? I assume you're on a case and I've been up all night and need something to do._

_ -EAM_

_Bakehaus, 71 King Street. Quickly._

_ -SH_


End file.
